


Beloved Sister, Beloved Wife

by Pameluke



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Ada Kicks Ass, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, Threats of Violence, Trick or Treat 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5059816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pameluke/pseuds/Pameluke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daughter, Niece, Sister, Wife, Mother.<br/>She's so many things at once, to so many different people.<br/>Ada Shelby, Ada Thorne?<br/>London does not care, and neither does she anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beloved Sister, Beloved Wife

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueteak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueteak/gifts).



> This is set vaguely at the beginning of season 2, somewhere between the funeral and Ada and Karl moving to the new house.
> 
> For Blueteak,  
> I loved that we matched on Ada, and I totally agree, there was too little of her in season 2!  
> I hope you enjoy this!

Ever since Freddie died, the weather had been terrible. London always seems dreary, the smoke, fog and dirt combining to a never-ending greyness that no sunlight could ever really dispell. Birmingham had been grim and smokey as well, but the houses had been familiar, and while the people were not kind, at least they noticed her. In London, you just disappeared into the crowd, a grim and gray squirming mass, like bugs on a dunghill.

London doesn’t feel like home, not now that Freddie is gone. But Birmingham isn’t home either, not anymore. She didn’t belong in that life. She wants something different for Karl. She wants something different for herself. She just wishes Tommy and Arthur would find some peace and quiet as well.

She wishes for a lot of things. She wishes Freddie hadn't become sick, that Karl would have grown up knowing his father. She wishes Arthur and Tommy hadn’t gone to fight in the war, so they wouldn’t be this fucked in the head. She wishes Mother was still alive. She wishes, she wishes, she wishes...

She wishes she could actually feel the sun on her skin again, just for a second. To feel warm again, all the way through. She hasn't been truly warm since she wiped Freddie's fevered brow the last time. She wishes he would hold her again.

‘Wishing won’t change anything’, Freddie used to say. ‘You have to actually do something to change things.’

If only she knew what to do. What to change.

It’s drizzling, and she’s making her way to the apartment through the muck on the streets. She’s grateful that the lady upstairs is looking after Karl, but she wishes she’d be less cranky about it. She’s running late, so she’ll have to take the shortcut, even though it’s badly lit, and she prefers to avoid it.

There’s a dirty beggar child going through the crowd ahead of her, without much luck. It’s the winter months, people need their money for coal and food. She’s a pretty child, under all the dirt, but obviously hasn’t been washed or bathed in ages. Possibly ever. The girl can’t be much older than Carl, but she's just skin and bones. Just looking at her makes her heart hurt.

“Some coin, miss,” she begs, and Ada stops. She promised herself she would be kinder, so she grabs for the coins she can spare.

She bends over to hand them over to the girl, but something pulls on her dress, and she should have known, she’d done this scheme a hundred times as a kid. Let the cute one distract the mark, and the fast one grab the purse, with the strong one on the lookout if there's three of you.

She'd been the cute one, but she'd been the fast one longer.

She grabs the purse-cutters' wrist before he can make off with her money. He yells and squirms, but her grip is strong and secure from battling a toddler who hates bathing.

He’s a couple of years older than the girl, but they’re obviously related.  The same mouse-brown hair, the same blue eyes, the same dimple in the chin. But while the girl looks teary-eyed and ready to wail, the boy looks furious and like he’s about to bite her arm off.

“Hold still!” She orders them. “I’ll give you both a sixpence, if only you listen for a bit. And be quiet!”

They both still, and look at her with wary eyes. “A little bit of advice. When you’re cutting purses, it’s important to pick the right mark. Don’t pick people who’re already giving you something. You make them think about their purse instead of distracting them from it. If you can’t cut it without your mark feeling it, you need a bigger distraction.”

She gives the girl her coin but holds off on handing it over to the boy.

“I want you to spend this on food for you and you sister and any other siblings you’ve got running around, alright? No silly business like beer or tobacco,” she admonishes.

The boy glares at her but nods anyway. She gives him the coin and lets go of his arm, and neither of them hesitates to run for it. She looks around, and nobody seems to have noticed anything, or if they had, they didn’t care. Londoners.

She’s running even later now, so she hurries along, choosing to pass through alleys where she can. It’s dark anyway in this part of town since the streets here no longer have lamp light. They had once, but kids kept throwing them out, so why bother replacing them?

She keeps hearing steps behind her, and she turns around multiple times, expecting it to be the kids, asking for more money, but there’s nobody there. This part of the city, people tend to do their business and hurry inside, especially in weather like this. She’s all alone, nobody in sight, and that’s probably the first time since she moved to London. It’s earie.

She runs out of the alley and decides to stick to the road that runs along the river. The fog is thick, and she’s soaked, but the buildings are less looming here at least.

The fog is dampening the sounds, but there’s definitely steps behind her, she’s sure of it, and when she glances discreetely over her shoulder, she finally spots the man stalking her. He’s not too tall, but dark and beardy, and even with the bad visibility through the fog, she can see his clothes are dirty and torn.

He’s walking quickly, but still being quiet about it, which is a bad sign. Only people up to no good are quiet on evenings like this.

She quickens her step a little bit but doesn’t run. Never show fear to the wolves, or the wolves will eat you, Aunt Poll used to say, and she’d learned that lesson young. Beat or be beaten, Arthur would say, with the crazy in his eyes. But Arthur is still in Birmingham, and he can’t save her anymore. Freddie is gone, it’s just her and Karl, so she’ll have to be the fucking wolf.

She turns and slips into an alley between some dinky looking storage buildings, and hides in a nook. With a little luck, the man will pass her. She picks up a rock in case her luck runs out, though.  

She holds her breath when she hears the man turn into the alley as well. Her heartbeat is deafening in her ears when he runs past her nook, but she doesn’t make a sound.

She hears his footsteps becoming softer, and she takes a relieved breath. But then his footsteps suddenly stop altogether, and she hears him curse.

It’s quiet for two beats, and neither of them moves. Her fingers are cramping around the rock, but she doesn’t dare to change her grip, out of fear she might drop it. The fog is dampening the sounds, but she thinks she hears him turning back. He’s slowly getting closer again, and now she’s sure he’s up to no good. Hiding makes you look suspicious, Tommy would say, if you act like nothing is going on, you’ll get away with murder.

She’s pretty sure her brother has killed a lot of people, and not only in the war, and nobody has caught them yet, so there’s truth in that too.

“Where are you little miss, come and meet Pat, why won’t you?” He’s close enough now she can hear him muttering, and when there’s a break in the fog, she can see him standing with his back to her, only a couple of arm-lengths away.

“No need to be afraid, I won’t hurt you. Much.” He says, and snickers to himself. “I just want that purse of yours. Saw you giving money to those kids, so why don’t you give some to Pat, huh?”

Figures, she gets this for her kindness. Ada has pretty much had enough.

She takes two silent, slow steps towards the man, so he’s within reach, and grips her rock a little tighter. She scrapes her throat to catch his attention.

He turns around with a look of surprise on his face, and she moves forward to hit him, trying to make the most of the surprise on her side. Unfortunately he’s faster than she thought he would be, and dodges her hit, trying to make a grab for her from her side. A kick in the balls always does the trick, John would say, so she turns with him and smashes her knee in his crotch, and when he doubles down she smashes the rock into his shoulder.

He screams into the night, squirming on the ground, and Ada looks down the street, expecting some reaction. But there’s still nobody around, or if they are, they’re not doing anything. It’s still London.

She looks down at the yammering man and drops her rock. Guess she can take care of herself after all.

“Don’t fuck with Ada Thorne,” she says and leaves him lying there. She has a son to go home to.

**  
**

**Author's Note:**

> I wouldn't have participated in this Exchange, nor would I have finished this fic, without the help and excellent comma-killing skills of the marvelous AlterEgon.  
> Thanks again!


End file.
